To and Not To Regret
by Islenthatur
Summary: There were many things in life d'Artagnan regretted and did not regret, saving his brothers is one of those things. Entry for June's Fête des Mousquetaires


**Title: To and Not To Regret  
Summary: There were many things in life d'Artagnan regretted and did not regret, saving his brothers is one of those things.**

 **Author Note: So this is my first ever entry for June's Fête des Mousquetaires – Regret. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Third POV**

There were many things in his life that d'Artagnan regretted. He regretted falling from the tree back home when he was little and breaking both his arm and collarbone. He regretted every argument he had with his maman before she grew ill, hating her for not giving him a sibling he so desired… he regretted stopping at that Inn when his père was killed, if it were not for his suggestion then maybe he would still be alive.

Yes, there were many things in life that he regretted, but then there were many things that he did not.

He did not regret kissing Constance that day in the marketplace, it was because of her that he didn't end up in the streets or the bastille… or worse, dead. She had taken him home, had tended to his wounds with a kindness he had not had for a long time; it as then that he felt something beyond grief, guilt and anger.

She was a spark of life in the dull world.

Joining the musketeers was another action that he could not regret, yes he had lost a family to gain it, had to do painful and impossible things to gain his commission and respect from his brothers. So much pain and grief, fury and joy but he did not regret, could not regret those actions which brought him his brothers.

It was those actions that led the Inseparables from mere acquaintances to friends and then family.

Athos, Porthos and Aramis. They had done much for him and he had done much for them, he loved them beyond all reason and so that brought him to this predicament, lying in the middle of a war torn field with a bullet wound in his chest.

The war with Spain had been long and tiring but he stayed and fought hard by his brother's side, fought to keep them living to see another day and they returned the favour but they had won and were returning home. Today though was unlike the others, it was vicious and dastardly, the enemies forces sneaking up from behind while they marched home.

"Irony." He chuckled with a gasp before grimacing as the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. He chuckled once more, his hand now cold pressing weakly to the wound. "That now the war is over, I should die."

Oh, this would be another thing he knew to regret and not regret. He would regret splitting from his brothers to check on something he had seen but he would not regret placing himself between the enemy's musket and his brothers.

He didn't know which one the Spaniard was aiming for, be it Aramis, Porthos or Athos; it could have been one of the others in the platoon but it did not matter… no not to d'Artagnan. So he took the shot for his brothers before firing his own in return before collapsing, letting the sounds of ambush and cries wash around him like a river over stones.

"d'ARTAGNAN!" A voice called once the sounds died down, it pierced across the blood soaked earth like a musket shot. "d'ARTAGNAN!"

"'Thos." He gasped out, eyes snapping open. _When did his eyes close?_ "'THOS."

The scream ended in a coughing fit with more metallic taste, blood his mind supplied. His eyes slipped closed once more before snapping open as he felt hands grasp his cold hands and pressing tightly down upon the wound.

"Shhh brother, shhh…. ARAMIS!" Athos roared, his eyes scanning for his brother while another bled out below his palms.

"'Thos… cold." d'Artagnan rasped out, his hand grasping Athos's weakly.

Athos glared worryingly at his younger brother, his heart thumping wildly in his chest as fear snatched the air from his lungs. "Don't close your eyes d'Artagnan, stay awake, Aramis is coming!"

D'Art shook his head weakly; he could feel the life slipping away, colours dulling into greys and warmth leaving his body. He gave his friend a bloody smile and clumsily patted his friends, his brothers' hands that rested upon his chest.

Porthos and Aramis pushed their legs across the field as Athos's desperate pleas and nearly crumbling in grief at their brother's side, Aramis did not stop and quickly got to work, his eyes taking in the wound upon his brothers' chest. He did not know if he could fix this, if his brother would live this…

"We're here brother, stay with us." Porthos soothed as he took Athos's vacant spot while their captain sat at d'Art's head, running his fingers through the Gascon's hair.

"I do not regret." He gasped out, eyes clenching shut as the pain spiked through him again. "Never, regret saving… brothers… not regret choosing you all…"

Athos gripped his brothers' face tightly and loomed over his face. "Do not let go, fight d'Artagnan, do you hear me FIGHT! I cannot lose another brother, do not make me mourn you too."

d'Artagnan did not say a word as he glanced up into his mentor's eyes, could not say a word as he took in the tears that he had barely seen in them. How could he tell his brother, his mentor and Captain that he was tired, tired of fighting. He just wanted peace, even now while Aramis dug the musket ball from his chest, the pain threatening to drag him down into the depths of unconsciousness and deaths embrace.

New regrets began to spring to mind at that thought.

He regrets that Constance would lose another husband, that there will be no children born from their love.

He regrets that Aramis will forever see another brother's blood upon his hands.

He regrets that he will be leaving Porthos, his big bear of a brother alone to look after Aramis and Athos.

He regrets that he will never be able to show his wife and his brothers his home and what it used to be.

But what he would regret the most, the one regret that would haunt him beyond his death is causing Athos more pain, more grief. His mentor had been dealt with a bad hand by fate and now he would be another mark against his soul, _another brother to grieve._

The sounds round him faded and black began to creep in his vision but he did not turn away from his mentors face, could not hear what Athos was screaming at him as tears dropped down and splashing at the blood and dirt that coated his face.

 _I'm sorry…_ his mind whispered as his eyes slipped closed. _I love you… my brothers…_

"All for one…" He whispered, letting his body go lax.

 **XX**

 _Where am I?_ It was the first thought he had when he woke to darkness with only a candle flickering above him. Pain radiated across his body, from his chest outwards, it was the sign that he was still alive, for surely heaven would not have pain.

His eyes scanned the room and tiredly raised his brows as he took in his room at the garrison. How? He had thought he had died, had thought that he would not survive that wound and yet…

The door opened slowly, bringing with it a blinding light and a blast of fresh air that made him moan in pain, his eyes clenching shut before coughing in agony. Hands helped him sit up slightly to ease his chest and soon enough he felt the refreshing taste of cool water.

"d'Artagnan?" Aramis asked softly, hopefully.

Hazy pain glazed eyes looked up, a faint smirk upon the Gascon's lips. "What hit me? A four horse carriage?"

Aramis let out a startled laugh before easing his brother back, making sure that the wound was not pulled and the broken ribs not jostled. "No mon frère, it was a bullet."

"P'thos? 'Thos? Constance?" He asked with a grimace, hand flying to his wound as he shifted to get more comfortable, only to be stopped by his brother.

"I'll get them, don't move d'Art, the ball shattered your collarbone and you have two broken ribs from falling off your horse. I'll be right back." Aramis explained as he stood and quickly made his way out of the room and towards the Captain's office where he knew the three would be.

Athos jerked his head up as his door burst open to see a pale Aramis, his heart dropping while his hand shot to Constance as she stood, hand flying to her mouth and a sob breaking free. "Aramis?"

"He's awake… Athos, he's awake!" Aramis got out before a blur of black and brown flew past him and towards their room, he couldn't help but laugh at Constance's happy hysteric laughter and followed after her, with his brothers on his heels.

d'Artagnan smiled up at his brothers when they burst into the room, his hand buried into his wife's hair as she sobbed into his lap. "Mon frère's it is so good to see you."

"You gave us a right fright you did whelp. Passing out in the field, we didn't know if you would survive or not." Porthos chuckled out as he pulled up a stool and sat at his brothers' side.

The Gascon's smile slipped slightly, "I almost didn't. I remember fading and being so tired of fighting, I just wanted peace."

"Then why did you?" Athos asked softly as he sat at the end of the bed, his eyes locked down at the wooden floor. It seemed now that he could breathe freely again, that the colours of Paris were no longer washed grey but vibrant once more.

"Because you asked me to, you asked me to fight and so I did. I will never regret fighting for you, for Porthos and Aramis, for Constance. You are my family and I will never regret fighting for that, as I always have." D'Artagnan explained softly, giving his brothers a smile while rubbing his good hand comfortingly down his wife's back.

* * *

 **Author Note: Well this is what this month's prompt gave me, my first Fête des Mousquetaires entry! And Whump!d'Art, seriously its like a guilty pleasure.**


End file.
